


'Till It Bleeds

by sirenofodysseus



Series: Detriment [4]
Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Gen, Panic Attacks, hurt/comfort bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:11:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenofodysseus/pseuds/sirenofodysseus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You can’t do all of this on your own, Patrick. If you don’t let someone in, it’ll kill you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Till It Bleeds

**Author's Note:**

> This little piece is set after 1x07, Seeing Red. I always wanted more Jane/Grace interaction at the end of that episode, so I wrote something AU-ish. Also written for Hurt/Comfort Bingo, using the prompt: "panic attacks".

From the doorway, Grace Van Pelt watches Patrick Jane. She knows it’s wrong, but the sad expression etched onto his face entrances her; Grace knows he isn’t whole, but the smile he constantly wears allows her to imagine that Jane is just like them all. However, seeing him on the verge of tears twists her stomach. It also makes her wish that she could do something more for him than just leave him to suffer in silence; Lisbon’s warned her to leave him alone when it comes to his family (and his last career path), but she just can’t force herself to stop caring about someone she considers a friend.

_Jane doesn’t have friends, Grace, he only has people that he cons_ , she remembers Wayne telling her months ago. She didn’t believe him then and she still doesn’t believe him now, as everybody needs somebody and eventually, she knows that Jane will need them all. Her fellow team members do mean well, she thinks, but she doubts they’ve ever seen him without his characteristic smile. She doubts they’ve ever seen the real Patrick Jane and that thought truly saddens her.

She continues to watch him in silence, wondering what Kristina Frye said to get under his abnormally thick skin. Grace argues with Jane about the sanctity of religion often and he somehow always manages to get under her skin, but she can’t ever seem to get under his. Maybe, she ponders, Kristina learned something from beyond the veil about Red John. Or maybe…she stops. The thought of Kristina telling Jane anything about his deceased wife and child unnerves her, as she doesn’t even know all of the details. She knows he was the one that found them, she knows he went off the grid for a few years, and she knows he’s only with them to find Red John; to avenge his wife and daughter, who he believes are dead because of him.

Hubris is a sin, yes, but she also secretly believes that Red John would have killed them regardless. Taunting a serial killer on national television is an obvious mistake, but the picture of Red John that she’s slowly been painting within her head is one part deliberation and one part devil. For Red John cannot be a pariah, nor can he be a saint; he has killed far too many women to be anything other than a Leviathan in her eyes.  
The sound of harsh breathing breaks her thoughts and she quickly returns her attention to Jane, only to find that he is trembling violently. She watches his limbs shake, she hears him wheeze for air, she watches his chin dip into his chest and she knows he needs immediate help; as he’s about to have a panic attack.

“Jane,” she whispers softly. He doesn’t respond. “Jane?” She steps into the room and approaches him slowly, mindful not to touch him. “It’s okay, Patrick. You can get through this.” She wishes she could touch him and offer him some form of comfort, but she knows she can’t; it isn’t because she doesn’t know how, it’s because she knows how debilitating a panic attack can be. Grace pulls out the chair beside him and sits down, placing her hands in her lap with a strained smile. “Talk to me, Patrick. I’m here, let me help you.” She waits for him to respond, but his breathing becomes shallower and shallower and the thought of calling for the paramedics (or for Lisbon) never crosses her mind. “Concentrate on your breathing, Patrick. Stay in the present.” She waits patiently for him to respond to her command—her eyes, however, never wander far from his shaking form and she watches his breathing even out with a sense of relief. “Good job.”

After several moments of forced silence, his weary bluish-green eyes capture hers. “Grace?” She nods and he smiles, uneasily. “What are you doing here still?” Grace thinks about telling him a lie, but she knows he’ll see right through her and she’s never been a natural liar.

“You had a panic attack,” she tells him and she watches him frown slightly, before his lips twist into a tired smile.

“I’m fine, Grace,” he tells her and she shakes her head. Pale skin, bloodshot eyes…he’s certainly not the definition of “fine”. “This is just something that happens…”

“You aren’t fine, Patrick,” she responds, before she watches his mouth open and she stops him from speaking. “Don’t. I know what a panic attack is. You aren’t doing yourself any favors by lying to me, so talk to me instead.”

“I’m not…” Grace narrows her eyes and she hears him sigh. “I have panic attacks quite often; this isn’t a big deal.”

“Does Lisbon know?” She watches him shake his head, and she doesn’t ask why; it’s something she understands. “You should tell her.”

“If you know panic attacks, Grace,” his eyes are still on hers, “then you’ll know why I refuse to tell Lisbon. Only you and Sophie know, and I would prefer to keep it that way.” She says nothing for a moment, wondering if Sophie was his wife. Although the use of “know” and not “knew” make her believe Sophie is someone quite different, all together. “Lisbon deals with enough. I doubt she’d enjoy hearing that her consultant consistently breaks down over little things.” He offers an uneasy laugh and she continues to shake her head. “What?”

“What did Kristina say to you?”

“She asked me what color bra she was wearing,” Jane explains with his fake smile. “I told her I didn’t know, hence the reason for my panic attack. Intimacy makes me nervous.” His smile becomes rather uneasy and she blinks.

“What did she really say to you?”

Jane completely loses his smile. “Why does it matter?”

“Because you’re my friend,” she takes one of his hands in her own and squeezes gently. “If you understand the reasons for your attacks, things will get easier.” He stares at her in surprise and she offers a nod. She could tell him her whole backstory—start with her sister, her father and her mother—but she doesn’t; Grace only continues to hold his hand and smile in his direction, trying to offer him what nobody else will—comfort.

“She said she…my daughter…never woke up,” Jane’s voice is small and her heart aches for him. Who could be so cruel to answer a question like that? Kristina Frye, psychic or not, should have known better. “I’ve been wondering for a while now, but…” he shrugs, before his voice fades out.

“You never thought you’d ever get an answer?” Grace finishes for him and he nods, slowly. “Does it make you feel any better though?”

His lips twist into a sad, small smile. “I had a panic attack, so probably not.” She squeezes his hand again and she waits for him to pull away from her touch, but he doesn’t. He just stares at her with a small smile. “I know I should tell Lisbon, trust me, but she’ll have me removed from the unit. I need to catch Red John, Grace. I need to make him pay and then I’ll be free.”

She feels like she should quote bible scripture at him, tell him that vengeance won’t make him feel any better, but the words don’t come. Instead, she simply nods.  
“I won’t press that you tell Lisbon, and I won’t tell her myself,” Grace tells him and Jane’s shoulders relax. “I just want you to let me help you, okay? If you feel the start of another panic attack happening, let me know.” She watches him nod. “You can’t do all of this on your own, Patrick. If you don’t let someone in, it’ll kill you.”

He says nothing and next to him, still clutching his hand, she remains in silence and prays that he’ll—one day—be okay.


End file.
